


Lot 37

by ZydrateNote



Series: WTNV [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Kill your double, M/M, Night Vale Community Radio, Possessed Cecil, Smiling God, Strex, Strexcorp, cecil x kevin, kevin x cecil, lot 37, possesed!Cecil, third eye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZydrateNote/pseuds/ZydrateNote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The purchaser of Lot 37 has come to collect his winnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lot 37

There is a comfort in the old fashioned.  The simplicity of dated technology gives it a charm unlike any other.  But the repose of his elderly microphone and well-worn headset could not silence the swirling haze in Cecil’s mind.   _I couldn’t do it.  I missed my chance.  It’s somebody else’s.  I’m somebody else’s._  A knot of dread forms in the pit of his stomach.  He had missed his chance to win the lot that had so intrigued him.  He sighed, dropping into his desk chair.  Cecil rubs his temples with one hand, third eye looking downcast.  He peers down at his oddly functional watch.   _5:20.  Too early to call Carlos._  

A knock at the door jars him out of his stupor.  “Come in,” he mumbles, not turning around.  “Door’s open.”  His station door swings open.

“It’s good to see you again, Cecil!” The cheerful voice makes Cecil freeze.  He stands, turning to face the man outlined in the doorframe.   _He looks like me.  Just…_ Kevin steps forward, arms outstretched.

“You remember me, don’t you?  I believe you tried to throttle me last time.”  The wide smile resolutely remains in place as he continues to step forward.  Cecil scans his desk for a weapon.

“Stay away from me.” He hisses.

“Oh, no!  I’m just here to collect my winnings.”  Kevin assures him, waving his hand dismissively.

“Your what?” Cecil asks, confused.

Kevin clasps his hands together.  “No one told you?  Then I get to deliver the news!” He grins wider and leans forward.  Cecil grips the edge of his desk.  “Why don’t you sit down?”

“No, I-” A force, stronger than his will, presses Cecil down into his chair.  He grits his teeth, glaring up at Kevin.

“Lot 37, Cecil Palmer, bought and paid for by _me_.”  A quiet laugh gushes from his throat as Cecil pales.

“You-”

“Well, StrexCorp, that is.  I’m here to pick you up.  But I can’t take you home looking like this!  You’ve got to be a respectable piece of property.”  Kevin cups his hand under Cecil’s chin.  He tries to pull away, turning his head to the side.  “Hold still.”  The same unseen force as before holds Cecil in place.  “Aww.  You _do_ have to listen to me.   _Interesting_.”  He draws a long, thin piece of cord from his trouser pocket and begins binding Cecil’s wrists to the chair.  

“Stop!  Let me go.”  Cecil strains against the cord to no avail.  He kicks Kevin in the stomach making him growl and stagger back.

“Behave, Cecil.”  He digs in his pocket again, this time selecting a switchblade.  He flicks it open watching Cecil’s eyes widen.  “Excited are we?”  He sits, straddling Cecil’s hips.  Leaning forward, he pauses inches away from Cecil’s face.  “Before I clean you up for StrexCorp…”  Kevin closes the gap and kisses him.  A muffled utterance of surprize comes from Cecil.

“ _Get the hell off me._ ”

“Oh, don’t be like that!”  Kevin sighs happily and places his hand on Cecil’s cheek.  “Smile for me.  After all, our God _is a smiling God_.”  He tilts Cecil’s chin up, looking him in the eyes.  A scowl etches itself into Cecil’s face.  “Let me see to smile Cecil.”  He remains still, eyeing the blade clutched in Kevin’s hand.  “Very well, Cecil, you give me no choice.”  He slides the blade between Cecil’s lips.  He whimpers softly, panic in his ashen face.  Kevin slices into the corner of his mouth, slitting his cheek open.  Cecil screams in pain.  The knife reenters his mouth, cutting the opposite side to match.  A gruesome Glasgow-Grin now dominates his handsome features.  Cecil’s head drops back, his body shaking.  Gasps and soft cries emit from his ruined mouth.  Blood pours down his face, dripping onto his neck, and spills onto his shirt.

In his pocket, Cecil’s phone buzzes.  Kevin pulls it out.

“Who is Carlos?”

Cecil strains to reach his phone.  “C-Carlos,  I-I-”

Kevin presses the ‘decline’ option and tosses the phone over his shoulder.  “Where was I?  Oh yes.  The standard human has just two eyes if I am correct.”  He brushes the hair out of his eye, wiping blood across his forehead.  Beneath the stain is a jagged scar.  “You appear to be one over the limit.  But don’t worry.  I can fix you.”  He reaches again into his pocket and pulls out medical thread with a needle carefully tucked under a few loops.  Kevin delicately threads the needle.  

“N-no!   _P-please_ -”

Kevin steadies Cecil’s head, and slowly begins to stitch his third eye closed.  He shrieks in agony, his tenor voice beautiful in Kevin’s ears.  Every prick of the needle, every pulls of the thread draw a new, enticing noise from Cecil’s blood spattered lips.  His two unsealed eyes, once bright and kind, appear dull and fearful.  With a flourish, Kevin ties off his handiwork and cuts the thread.  

“Now,  there was one more thing I needed to do.  What was it- oh.  Of course!  How could I forget?  You’re the Voice of Night Vale.  But, they won’t be needing a voice anymore.”  He beams down at Cecil and slashes into his throat, severing his vocal cords.  Blood bubbles from his mouth and throat, a gurgled choke escaping from him.  The fight leaves his body.  Kevin stitches the gash, averting the bleeding.  He unties the bonds.  Cecil sits obediently, eyes trained on the floor.  Kevin leans down once more and kisses him.  This time Cecil offers no resistance.  

“Let’s get you to the boss then.  Though I’ll admit, I’ll miss those noises.”  He scoops Cecil into his arms.  The radio host weakly leans against him.  Lot 37 has met its new owner.

 

 


End file.
